


Impossibly Pink

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Series: Softly and Tenderly, We Begin (Hackle Summer Trope Challenge) [4]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Dimity can't leave well enough alone, F/F, Hackle Summer Trope Challenge, Useless thirsty lesbians in love, super super sloooow burn, week 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 16:01:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15465012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: Ada begins to receive pink letters. Impossibly pink letters.Pippa pink letters.Hecate...well, she's not particularly happy about that.4/8 in the Hackle Summer Trope Challenge.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Week Four Prompt: Correspondence & Letters.
> 
> Also: I know I usually tell you that you don't have to read the other works in this series, but seriously, it's all too intertwined at this point. So if you haven't, you should turn right around and read the other three entries in this series. Or you will be slightly lost. Your choice.
> 
> Also, also: There's a bit of Latin in here, and I will fully admit that one is not in my linguistic wheelhouse, so if I butchered it completely...let a bitch know, mkay?

It was two weeks before Samhain that Hecate noticed the arrival of the first pink letter. The first _very_ pink letter. Impossibly pink.

Pippa pink.

Except the letter wasn’t addressed to Hecate. It was for Ada. Hecate saw it one morning as she came in to ask for Ada’s signature on the latest budget changes. It was sitting amidst the chaos of Ada’s desk, so startlingly obvious that at first, Hecate thought she’d imagined it. But a second glance confirmed: a pink envelope, unmistakable flowery script, that little flourish at the end that looped into a pentagram, Pippa’s personal touch.

That didn’t rouse Hecate’s suspicions. There were plenty of perfectly legitimate reasons for Pippa Pentangle to correspond with Ada Cackle—perhaps setting up another spelling bee, or arranging a trip with both sets of fifth years on some college tour. No, it wasn’t that. It was the fact that when Ada saw her gaze, she quickly took the letter, putting it away in a desk drawer with a feigned nonchalance that immediately set Hecate’s senses on-alert.

But Hecate didn’t ask, and Ada certainly didn’t offer an explanation.

Then a second very pink letter arrived, a mere two days after the first. That was when Ada’s demeanor changed. Several times she jumped whenever Hecate entered the room, as if she’d just been caught doing something awful, although nothing seemed to be happening at all. She became distracted, always shuffling things away on her desk whenever Hecate entered the office, always approaching Hecate with an odd nervous energy.

Naturally, Hecate Hardbroom assumed that she’d done something wrong. Only two weeks prior, they’d taken the third year girls on an impromptu two day trip. During that time, there had been a visit to the beach. Hecate had kept a promise she’d made to herself, and had given Ada a picnic. It hadn’t been as she’d planned—the weather was awful, there was a group of chatty girls involved, sand was everywhere—but Ada had responded as if she’d been handed the moon. Since then, they’d continued in quiet happiness, occasionally sharing warm glances or soft smiles. Sometimes, Ada’s hand lingered on her arm, and sometimes, she gently placed her own hand over Ada’s, silently reassuring her that she liked the contact, that she wasn’t running away, that she wanted this, all this and more.

And until now, Ada had implied that she wanted this, too. But now…now, there was a sudden secrecy, a sudden hesitation in her blue eyes, and that filled Hecate with the deepest fear. Had the blonde changed her mind?

Had she finally realized that there were more…desirable options?

Another pink letter arrived just a few days later. Hecate tried to ignore the bubbling in her chest.

The next evening, Ada and Hecate sat down to work over the quarterly budget. Ada’s maglet kept chiming, and she kept turning away to scribble replies.

“Should I come back at a more convenient time?” Hecate kept her tone light and nonchalant, but the edge of irritation was still evident to Ada, who’d learned how to read the nuances of her deputy’s expression quite easily.

“Nonsense. I’m perfectly capable of multitasking,” Ada assured her with a smile. However, she seemed incapable of making direct eye contact with Hecate—a trait usually reserved for lying students, the younger witch dourly noted.

“As you say,” Hecate mumbled, ducking her head to concentrate on the rows of numbers as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world. Ada let it slide, knowing that tension was mounting due to the yearly Halloween preparations—a time of year that was filled with conflicting emotions for Hecate Hardbroom.

It was now a week til Samhain. Ada had hoped that this year, maybe Hecate would be less tense. It was a bit silly, thinking that simply because they’d started smiling differently at each other, every other aspect of their life would change. But Ada did want to prove that she could be a good thing in Hecate’s life, that this new facet of their relationship could prove itself as something better, something worth the wait.

Hence her current correspondence with Miss Pentangle.

Hecate couldn’t stop herself from watching as Ada picked up her maglet again, a glowing smile on her face. A ripple of fire seared through her veins.

She loved that smile. She hated that someone else had the power to elicit it.

She tried to imagine what Pippa could possibly be saying that would earn her such a rare treasure. Because it was definitely Pippa whom Ada was replying to. Hecate had glanced at the screen, earlier, too curious to let it slide. And now Ada was beaming as she wrote out a reply.

She tried to push the thought from her mind. Tried not to think of what could possibly be the topic, what could possibly make Ada react like that. Tried not to imagine Pippa’s reaction, too—her coy smile, her perfectly pink perfectness, her decidedly not-Hecateness, her whimsy and her romanticism, her kindness and her courage, better matched to Ada than Hecate could ever be.

The maglet chimed again, and Hecate felt a sharp pain in her palms. She looked down, surprised to find her own hands balled into white-knuckled fists.

_You’re being ridiculous_ , she chided herself. _Ada is a grown woman, free to do as she pleases—whom she talks to is not your concern. She doesn’t owe you anything._

Hecate worried the inside of her bottom lip until it bled. Despite her determination not to be affected, she found herself completely unable to push back the petty jealousy filling every fiber of her being. The numbers on the page swam before her eyes, refusing to make sense, refusing to give her any kind of distraction from the current hell of being so acutely ignored by Ada.

She was tired. High-strung. Perhaps slightly more prone to emotion than usual. She knew all this, and had simply wanted the quiet comfort of Ada’s presence to soothe the jagged edges. Wanted Ada’s soft smile and her teasing playfulness, her gentle calm that always brought Hecate’s own inner angst down a notch. But Ada was not available tonight, apparently. She had more distracting company, more interesting conversations to pursue than a dull recitation of the quarterly budget. Hecate felt herself going paler, color bleeding away under the strain of her own boringness. Of course she couldn’t compete with Pippa’s witty repartee. She shouldn’t even try.

She shouldn’t subject herself to this unique form of hell, either.

She told herself to retire with grace. To give herself some space, to find a way to remind herself that it was all in her head. To remain professional, and adult.

Instead, she merely snapped the ledger shut with more force than necessary, rising to her feet and flatly declaring, “Obviously, I’m distracting you from more important matters. We should continue this, at a more opportune time.”

She didn’t give Ada a chance to respond before transferring away. Ada sat at her desk, mouth open in shock. What on earth had just happened?

As far as she knew, everything was fine. Sure, Hecate was a bit more wound up than usual, but Ada had assumed it was due to the season. Ada replayed the evening in her mind, quickly finding only one possible root of explanation: her messaging with Miss Pentangle.

But why should that matter? Ada often replied to messages during their meetings, especially if it were on an important matter. Hecate never made a fuss over it before—she knew it was part of being headmistress. So what had changed?

She wasn’t sure how to solve this mystery. She also knew that she should allow Hecate some space, give her time to sort out whatever was going on in that beautiful head of hers. The potions mistress had been understandably edgy all week, and past years foretold that her edginess would only get worse. The best cure, Ada had learned, was to simply let Hecate be. The woman was like a cat, in many ways—when wounded, she wanted to be alone, became almost feral when not given the peace and quiet she desperately needed in order to heal. It was best to stand back, let Hecate find herself, and then quietly step in to offer comfort whenever she was ready to receive it.

But Hecate’s final words stayed in her head. _More important matters_. Implying that she didn’t believe herself to be of the utmost important to Ada. That belief couldn’t stand.

Ada glanced down at her wrist, where the connection bangle still rested. Hecate had given to her weeks ago, but not with the intention that usually influenced the giving of such a gift—connection charms were originally little trinkets shared between lovers, which allowed them to touch each other across great distances, to simply let one know that the other was thinking of them. Of course, Hecate’s plan had been more practical—a way for Ada to alert her to any danger that might befall the academy or its inhabitants while Hecate was away visiting her parents with her fake fiancé. Ada had used it once, the first day Hecate left, though she considered using it every single day since. Hecate had asked her to continue wearing it, just in case. For emergencies.

This was an emergency, in a way, Ada reasoned. She _absolutely_ needed Hecate to know that she was important to Ada, that Ada was worried, that Ada still cared. That whatever just happened wasn’t bigger than all the things between them, all the new ways they were growing into something more.

* * *

 

Hecate’s heart instantly ached with regret as she transferred into her potions lab, but her pride was too wounded to allow for an apology. She’d behaved like a spoiled child, storming away without explanation. And she hadn’t wished Ada a good night—why that bothered her so much, she didn’t know, but it did.

There was no reason for such an outburst. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, taking a deep breath. Ada could correspond with whomever she liked, however she liked. Yes, they’d started…what had they started doing? Smiling more? Holding hands, once, twice? So far, they hadn’t even progressed past standard fare for platonic friendship—hell, when Hecate considered it, her friendship with Pippa thirty years ago had been more tactile. So what had Hecate expected? That Ada would know the intention behind every timid action? That these small tokens of affection would somehow guarantee sole access to Ada’s heart? That she somehow had… _ownership_ , a stake in the woman’s life?

Hecate shook her head, body dipping lower as her hands pressed harder into her eyes, as if trying to block out the images and thoughts. Fear made her feral, she knew. But she’d dealt with fear before. No, this out-of-proportion reaction wasn’t due to the situation, but rather the woman at the heart of it.

Ada Cackle was making her insane. Jealous. Unstable. Ridiculous. Out of control. Everything she’d ever feared becoming.

Her traitorous mind couldn’t stop picking at the wound, imagining all the things Ada and Pippa could be talking about, all the ways they were much better suited to each other. Imagining Ada smiling at Pippa with the same soft adoration. Imagining Pippa sweeping Ada away, with her bravery and her bold gestures. Imagining them not even bothering to laugh at her own pitiful attempts at courtship, too caught up in each other to think of anything or anyone else.

Oh, she wanted to _scream_ , to do anything to release this awful rattling energy building in her chest with every breath.

A potion. She should mix something, give her mind over to measurements and temperatures and ingredients, choose something difficult, something that required every ounce of her concentration. Something to drive out the thought of two blonde, pink-clad headmistresses from her mind.

_I wanted to be you, Hiccup_. Pippa had confessed, the last time they’d seen each other. Well, it seemed she was getting her chance—and getting the love of Hecate’s life in the bargain.

_The love of your life?_ Her inner voice scoffed, filled with vitriolic venom. _You can’t even hold her hand without falling to pieces, what do you know of love, you quivering coward?_

She resolutely struck the thought from her mind. That determination lasted exactly ten seconds.

Pressing her lips together and summoning every ounce of will, she reached up for her _Advanced Potions_ textbook, tucked away on the shelf. She felt an odd sensation on her wrist—it took a second to register that it was coming from her connection charm.

_Ada_. The thought struck her entire body. Ada was reaching out to her, touching her wrist with calm warmth. Hecate nearly dropped the book in her hand ( _see what a fop you are?_ ).

The pressure didn’t stop. It simply…waited.

Hecate realized that Ada wouldn’t let go until she got a response. She stood there for a few moments, staring at her own wrist as if she didn’t recognize it. Ada held on.

Hecate’s mind swam with possibilities—what could this mean, what could it _possibly_ mean? That Ada was still here, still wanting to be here, in this uncertain land of requited attraction with her? That Ada was sorry for being distracted, for making her feel small and insignificant? That Ada was worried about her?

The last thought moved her into action. Because regardless of how irritated she’d been at Ada, how hurt she’d felt at Ada’s distraction, she couldn’t bear the thought of the blonde being worried. So she set down her potions book and gently clasped her right hand around the bangle on her left wrist. Her thumb gently rubbed circles into the flat disk on her pulse point, knowing that Ada would feel the same motion at the same place on her wrist as well.

* * *

 

Ada gave a small sigh of relief when she felt the gentle pressure of Hecate’s response. Her wrist tingled under the small friction, an easy motion that Ada could imagine even now—Hecate’s thumb, moving in circles, soft and reassuring and overwhelming.

It was ridiculous, a ghost of a touch, transferred through a piece of flattened pewter. Yet Ada felt the warmth spreading through her veins, skin pricking at this seemingly innocent contact. Like every other aspect of this new phase with Hecate, it was too much and not enough, all at once.

She didn’t let go of her own bracelet. She simply held on, letting the minutes tick away as Hecate’s hand still ghosted around her wrist, still caressed her skin with quiet reverence. Eventually, she let go, knowing that she’d already spent too much time relishing the touch—she’d wanted to know that Hecate was alright, that Hecate knew everything was alright between them, and given Hecate’s response, that message had been received.

She returned to her maglet with a smile, body deliciously alive with joyful anticipation.

* * *

 

It took Hecate a moment to remember exactly why she was in her potions lab at such a late hour. With shaking hands, she traced over the outlines of her bun (a useless gesture, it was immaculate as always), still trying to sort out what had just happened.

She knew this time of year was always difficult. Samhain brought out memories of childhood, nights spent around a candlelit table or a bonfire, tales of past tribulations and pauses for grateful reflection. And the day after, what the nonmagics called All Saints Day. Her birthday.

Birthdays were not heavily celebrated things in her family, an oddity that she didn’t realize until she was older and went to school. It had never bothered her, although she knew that the sad little story of only getting a single practical gift every year invoked pity or embarrassment in others. She took great pains to ensure that no one knew her birthdate—her skin crawled at the thought of people pretending to care and making a fuss because it was simply what was done. What a pointless idea, what a waste of everyone’s energy on something no one truly wanted to be a part of. Birthdays were merely a way to quantify the passage of time in a life, nothing more.

Well, except Ada’s birthday. That one was special, and was duly celebrated. Because whatever she may say, Ada Cackle liked being fussed over. She loved watching the girls’ skits and oohing and aahing over their handmade cards (which she would later cry over as she read them by the fire that night, Hecate knew). She loved the decorations and the lavish cakes, the festive air brimming through the castle. But it wasn’t a thing of vanity, not with Ada. It was more about loving and finding joy in having that love returned. She enjoyed her birthday because everyone else around her enjoyed celebrating a day dedicated to her, enjoyed a chance to be over-the-top in their adoration and admiration for the bubbly blonde.

Exactly why Hecate was never going to reveal her birthdate to anyone. She could hardly expect a response even remotely similar.

Ada knew. Obviously, it was part of her staff record. Years ago, long before Ada became headmistress, Hecate had made it very clear that she had absolutely no desire to celebrate her birthday, and Ada had been kind enough to listen. For the most part, she followed Hecate’s decree—well, as much as Ada could follow a rule, anyways. Still, every first of November, they had afternoon tea (as they did most days, but Ada always made it a point that they absolutely did _not_ miss tea time on that particular day). And that tea always included something rare, something Hecate loved. A certain teacake, perhaps. Or an unexplained bouquet of her favorite flowers on the tea service. Once, it was simply a record playing in the background, Hecate’s favorite composer. She’d understood that while Ada wanted to respect her wishes, she’d also found a way to point out that she hadn’t forgotten, and that she was grateful for this day—this day that brought her Hecate.

Hecate couldn’t stop herself from sourly wondering if Ada would even have time to prepare a thoughtful little token this year—would she be able to stop messaging Pippa Pentangle for more than five minutes?

_Childish, Hecate, absolutely childish, and beneath you._

Well, apparently _not_ beneath her, or she wouldn’t have thought it. She shook her head. She was just tired. Physically and emotionally. Dimity Drill was pulling out all the stops for this year’s Halloween celebration (Hecate rolled her eyes at the word, _Halloween_ , how unmagical and drained of its roots it sounded, how ecclesiastical, _All Hallow’s Eve_ , how filled with a thousand years’ worth of attempts to smudge out its beautiful, sacred, magical meaning), and of course, Dimity’s idea of appropriate activities differed quite wildly from Hecate’s. This year, she hadn’t put up much of a fight. Too exhausted by all the insane events of the past few weeks, too softened by all her time spent gazing at Ada, who was often gazing back.

Except that for the past few days, when Ada gazed back, there was a screen between them. Some kind of invisible shield. Over the years, Hecate had learned to read Ada like a book (Goddess knows, she’d spent enough time cataloging every nuance of the woman), and she had become rather adept at knowing when Ada was lying or keeping a secret. And right now, all signs pointed to just that. Worry bubbled in Hecate’s gut again at the implication.

It had all started when that first impossibly pink letter arrived.

She briefly considered breaking into Ada’s office and finding the letter. Only briefly. Perhaps a few seconds too long to be truly considered _briefly_. Still, she didn’t actually do it, so that had to count for something.

She glanced down at her wrist again. Ada cared, or else she wouldn’t have reached out. She had to remember that, cling to it like a drowning woman upon a piece of driftwood.

This wasn’t Ada’s fault. Not entirely. Hecate’s birthday always brought another unwelcome phenomenon: a mirror call from her mother. This year’s call promised to be more grueling than usual. After the newspapers had printed photos of her with Maximillian Spellborne, predicting their eventual marriage, Max had stepped up, publishing a letter refuting those claims.

Her mother had read it, she knew it. But Hazel Hardbroom had yet to send a response. Hecate knew she was simply storing up her anger and her venom, waiting to give it like her own unique form of a birthday gift.

She’d told herself that she would find delight in ruining her parents’ dream of such a high-born and powerful match, but _delight_ was decidedly not the emotion thrumming through her veins. No, _dread_ was a much more apt descriptor.

_You can’t brew a potion in this state._ Hecate’s inner voice was right, as usual. _You’re much too unstable._

With a heavy sigh of self-agreement, she listlessly transferred into her potions storeroom, her movements automatic as she sorted through a collection of small vials.

_Sleeping draught_ , the peeling label read. Normally, she avoided using draughts like the plague, but she knew that she wouldn’t sleep without pharmaceutical intervention, and she desperately needed the rest. Her nerves would be better in the morning, and she could tackle the unhappy business of finding an apology for Ada, of finding her way back to being a functional adult again.

She upended the vial with a neat flick of the wrist, setting it in the basket of empty vials, to be washed and recycled back into the storeroom. She transferred to her chambers and tumbled into bed and fitful sleep. Her mind flashed a hundred haunting dreams, and yet when she awoke, she couldn’t remember a single detail, though the oily malaise they created lingered on her skin like an electric current.

* * *

 

Hecate’s promise to approach the new day with calm and grace lasted precisely until breakfast. Because Ada had her maglet _at the table_.

Had it been anyone else, Hecate would have vanished the infernal device in an instant. But the headmistress had prerogative. So instead, she flexed and clenched her fingers, trying her best to avoid looking at the stupid thing.

An impossible feat, as the damn thing kept chiming every few minutes. Ada read each message with a light smile, but didn’t reply.

_Probably wants to wait until she’s in private to respond,_ Hecate thought bitterly. And what kind of conversation needed such privacy?

Her blood didn’t boil—it _burned_ , spreading through her veins like wildfire, dry and aching and angry. She gritted her teeth, equally angry at herself for being such a brat about the whole thing, pouting over Ada having something in her life that didn’t pertain to Hecate.

Dimity Drill sat at the breakfast table, unabashedly taking in the weirdness happening before her eyes. Ada was beaming, glowing like a schoolgirl in love, and HB looked ready to breathe fire, gripping her fork so tightly that Dimity seriously thought she might snap the metal in two. What had happened to usual simper fest that had become standard daily breakfast viewing?

Ada was too distracted to notice HB’s reaction, head ducked over her maglet. HB’s dark eyes slid over to the device as well, and Dimity suddenly understood the emotion radiating from every pore of HB’s frame.

_Jealousy_.

Dimity immediately perked up. Oh, _this_ was something she could work with. Just a few weeks ago, everyone had noticed a change in HB and Ada’s behavior—their adoring looks became more open, not confined to simply when the other wasn’t looking. She’d discussed it with Gwen and Algie, and they’d placed a running bet on how long it would be before the two witches were officially in a relationship. Gwen and Algie had placed conservative bets, picking dates somewhere in the next school year, but Dimity had been bold, had declared it would be a thing before Yuletide. Beltane at the latest.

Now Dimity Drill possessed many admirable traits, and a few adorable quirks which kept her from being too boringly perfect. Depending on whom you asked, her competitive drive was either a vice or a virtue. In this instance, though, it would definitely be a plus—because her need to win also fueled her need to aid these two helpless hopeless fools.

Jealousy, while not the prettiest or healthiest of emotions, was quite a keen motivator. She could use this to her advantage, push the hesitant HB into further action. She’d end up with Ada, they’d both be happy, Dimity would collect her winnings, and all would be well. Cheers all around.

She patiently waited (patience being among her strongest virtues) until after breakfast to sidle up to HB, who was no doubt preparing to transfer away to her beloved potions lab. With a sly tone, she wondered aloud, “Miss Cackle seemed a bit distracted this morning, didn’t she? Whatever could be the matter?”

“Perhaps you should ask her yourself,” HB replied tersely. Exactly as expected, so Dimity was unfazed.

“I just assumed you would know. Given how… _close_ you two are.”

Now she got a reaction. HB turned stiffly, eyes wide, brows practically in her hairline, nostrils flared and twitching slightly. _Tread carefully, Drill_ , every inch of her thin frame warned. _I have not forgotten my desire to murder you, nor my ability to do so._

Ah, yes. At the start of the term, the two had taken the third years on a survival hike. During which Dimity had revealed that she was fully aware of HB’s attraction to their headmistress—to which HB had quietly and seriously replied that she could easily kill Dimity and make up an excuse for it later. It had seemed like a relatively empty threat, and while Dimity was a betting woman, she prudently decided not to take on the odds.

The odds were in her favor, currently. Too many witnesses. So she continued, keeping her tone light and playful, “Aw, c’mon, HB. We all know that you and Ada don’t keep secrets from each other.”

The look of absolute hurt that flashed through HB’s dark eyes took Dimity by surprise. _Oh_.

But the potions mistress quickly recovered, blinking back whatever emotion was there and giving Dimity a longsuffering look, “And what makes you think that I would deign to share that information with _you_?”

Dimity merely grinned. “I assumed that would be covered under pillow talk, love.”

HB looked as if she wanted to die, right then and there. Possibly after taking out Dimity as well. Because _of course_ Dimity would never let her live down the fact that they’d slept together, in the most innocent of ways, during that survival hike. Honestly, it wasn’t Dimity’s fault that HB made it so easy to ruffle her feathers.

“I hate you,” HB informed her, low and serious.

“I know,” Dimity beamed all the brighter. “But we’re talking about _love_ right now. Which brings me back to Ada.”

HB _actually_ physically growled. Like a cat, low and rumbling. The sound of thunder before the lightning.

“What’s going on with her?” Dimity ignored the warning. Briefly, she wondered if picking HB up by the scruff of the neck would render her incapable of attacking, just like with cats. She also wondered if she would survive testing such a theory.

“I couldn’t say,” HB sniffed, turning away in her usual theatrical air. “If you’re so curious, why don’t you ask?”

“I am asking. I’m asking _you_.”

“And I’m saying that _I don’t know_ , Dimity. What Ada does in her personal life is no concern of mine—”

“But what if it was?”

HB stopped, turned back to her with a mixture of caution and curiosity. Ah, now Dimity had her on the hook. The flying instructor took a step closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Sometimes, people don’t tell you things because they’re waiting on you to ask. They’re waiting for you to show that you care. And when you don’t ask, they begin to think that you don’t care. And when they think you don’t care…they find someone who does.”

Oh, she’d hit the right button there—the flash in HB’s eyes was unmistakable, and slightly terrifying. Dimity had to admit that she was actually relieved that she wasn’t the object of such ire. Though she certainly got a few of the flames in passing.

“I would suggest you choose your next words with _extreme_ delicacy,” HB warned, pulling herself up to her full height, and leaning in just a fraction of an inch. The suggestion of violence was contained within every line of her body, every flinch of her expression, every clip of each overly-enunciated word.

_Girl’s got it bad,_ Dimity realized. She’d known that there was deep feeling there, but she’d touched a new facet in her understanding of HB’s feelings towards Ada Cackle.

“I’m just saying…maybe you’re the one who should be asking,” Dimity supplied. She couldn’t hide the slight tremor in her voice.

Another bell tolled, signaling the ten minute transition between breakfast and class was halfway through. HB pressed her lips into a thin line, giving a frustrated sigh as she transferred away.

Still, she was considering Dimity’s words. Dimity smiled to herself. But HB was right—she should just ask Ada. So she cast a locating spell and transferred into the corridor, where Ada was standing, smiling and greeting the girls on their way to their respective classes.

“Morning, Miss Cackle,” Dimity gave a slight nod. Ada rewarded her with a smile. Dimity motioned towards the maglet, still clutched in Ada’s hand. “Busy morning, I see.”

“Yes,” Ada’s smile deepened. Was she…blushing?

“I don’t mean to pry.” A lie, an absolute outright lie. “But…everything’s OK, isn’t it? Only….the last time you were glued to your maglet, there was a whole coup to oust you as headmistress.”

Ada gently patted Dimity’s arm in reassurance, taking a moment to give another nod and smile to a passing student. “It’s only good things, Miss Drill. Nothing to worry about, in the least.”

“Perhaps someone should mention that to HB,” Dimity was keenly aware of how far over the line she was stepping. Still, _winning_. “She looked like she was awaiting her own execution, every time that thing chimed.”

Now Ada’s face fell, filled with worry and confusion. _Oh, these two sweet idiots_ , Dimity thought warmly. They couldn’t find their way to the truth, even with a map and a lantern. Thank great Merlin’s girdle that they had someone like Dimity Drill to guide them along.

“Perhaps someone should reassure her that everything is…alright.” Dimity had to tread more carefully with Ada. She was still headmistress, after all. They weren’t equals, like Dimity and HB. “That nothing has changed, recently.”

Ada’s blue eyes widened with understanding, her glasses slipping down her nose.

“Perhaps so,” was her only reply. With one last nod, Dimity stepped away, hurrying to her own lessons for the day. Goddess help her, it was cat-training with the first years this morning.

* * *

 

The first potions lesson of the morning was the fifth years. Hecate included a pop quiz on the safety standards for harvesting basilisk venom, and then allowed the girls to each create their own variation on a shape-shifting spell. Poppy Pierremont made a rather convincing replica of Miss Hardbroom herself, and Hecate stifled a smile at her attempts to modulate her voice into something resembling Hecate’s. There was no cruelty in the imitation, but rather warm affection, so she allowed it. Even let the girls giggle as she gave a few pointers on how to better model a convincing imitation. Though she did warn them that Poppy’s attempt should be the last time anyone tried to shift into her, ever again.

The girls smiled and nodded, and Hecate was suddenly aware of how quickly the schoolyear was flying by. Soon it would be winter break, and then the final term with this group. Half a decade she’d spent molding them into decent witches, and they’d be gone in a heartbeat, never to return. They never did, no matter how many teary-eyed promises they made to the contrary. That was the way of things, Hecate knew. But her knowledge didn’t change the _missing_ that always followed the loss.

Goddess, she was truly out of control with her emotions these days. This new phase with Ada had cracked her open, leaving her raw and vulnerable. She wasn’t sure that she could stay this way for much longer. She was, after all, a coward. Bravery was too heavy a cloak, too uncomfortable, too stifling. But going back would also mean closing off from Ada, from all the feelings she had for Ada, from all the possibilities that currently danced through the air like fairies on a summer night, twinkling with promise.

Despite whatever oddness was happening between them now, there was still so much possibility. She had to continue, had to be brave, for Ada. She could anything, so long as it was for someone else, not for herself. _Especially_ if it was for Ada. She’d douse herself in kerosene and walk through the flames of hell, if Ada needed her to. Perhaps not the healthiest expression of love and devotion, but Hecate Hardbroom had accepted a long time ago that she was not the healthiest person when it came to expressing emotion.

“Miss Hardbroom?” Willow Windsnap gently interrupted her thoughts.

Hecate snapped to attention, eyebrows arching questioningly. Willow bent over her potions text, frowning at a bit that she didn’t quite understand. Hecate moved to Willow’s table, leaning over to inspect the text as well. Willow’s dyslexia sometimes proved a challenge when it came to certain ingredients, but Hecate never made an issue of it. The girl was extremely meticulous (it had taken a small cauldron explosion and a much larger explosion from Miss Hardbroom herself to instill a proper sense of safety into the girl, but the lesson had been fully learned), which more than overcompensated for her occasional difficulties.

With a slight flutter of her fingers, Hecate manipulated the text. The complicated word was enlarged, broken into smaller syllables so that Willow could process each bit before moving onto the next. She’d taught Willow this same spell, two years ago, but sometimes a word was too difficult for Willow to magic on her own. Especially when she was feeling overwhelmed.

Hecate waited patiently, for the moment when Willow tilted her head slightly—she’d finished reading the word. Now Hecate repeated the word aloud, quietly asking, “What else to do we use Egyptian hensbane for?”

Willow perked up at the realization. She’d chosen an older spell, one that used all the Latin names for herbs, and hence the issue— _hyoscyamus reticulatus_ was a doozy, even for those without dyslexia. With another flutter of her fingers, Hecate murmured, loud enough for Willow to hear, “ _Ostendo anglicus_.”

The rest of the ingredients shifted on the page, transforming into their more common names. Then she silently changed them back. Hecate waited, nodding in satisfaction when Willow quietly repeated the spell again, with success. Silently, Hecate wondered why she hadn’t taught the girl that spell before—not much to be done about that, better late than never.

That last thought, of course, reminded her of Ada (honestly, it didn’t take much to be reminded of the woman). Her brain replayed Dimity’s words: _s_ _ometimes, people don’t tell you things because they’re waiting on you to ask._

It was blindingly obvious—she should have simply asked what the letter was about. Had it been from anyone else, Hecate would have. It was normal, almost expected, that she would ask Ada about a suspicious letter on her desk.

So why hadn’t she done just that? She knew why—she was too afraid of the answer. The way Ada had taken it, slipped it out of sight like some kind of dirty secret, had sent a tremor through Hecate’s stomach, planting a seed of fear that had grown into a creeping vine of legendary proportion, strangling her in its greedy grasp.

_Any answer she gives you can’t be any worse than what you’ve already imagined._ Hecate tilted her head in silent agreement with her inner voice. She made a resolution to do just that, during mid-morning break: she’d transfer to Ada’s office, ask about the letter and the sudden flurry of correspondence, and that would be that.

* * *

 

That would not be that, as it turned out. Because Hecate found her throat too tight for words, tongue glued to the roof of her mouth as she stood outside Ada’s door, hand raised to knock but muscles unable to fulfill the command.

In this moment, there was still hope. Still a chance that Hecate was overreacting, that everything was fine, that Ada still wanted to continue pursuing something more. But once she went in there, once she asked the fateful question…hope might not survive.

She was being ridiculous, she was sure of it. _But still_ , a small voice tugged at the back of her mind.

The door swung open, startling her as Ada nearly barreled into her.

“Oh, Hecate! Perfect timing,” Ada beamed, slightly flustered. She adjusted her glasses, hands clasping nervously in front of her again. “Dimity has some potential decorations for next week’s celebration. She wants us to meet her in the great hall.”

“Right, of course,” Hecate ducked her head, somewhat grateful for a distraction. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t ask. It was a spell beyond her summoning, finding that kind of courage.

“Everything alright?” Ada asked quietly, moving closer to Hecate as they traversed the hall.

“Yes, absolutely,” Hecate nodded so emphatically that she almost gave herself a headache. Then, with a hesitant half-breath, she asked, “And…you? Everything alright?”

“Absolutely,” Ada beamed back. “Things are just…hectic, with all the Samhain planning.”

Hecate felt a small rush of affection. She was the only one who referred the impending holiday by its ancient name, and Ada always made a point to refer to it as such when speaking with Hecate. Always made a point of making her feel included, heard, understood.

_This_ is Ada, Hecate reminded herself, ducking her head as they continued through the maze of hallways. _Ada would never do anything to intentionally hurt you. She can’t read minds, you know._

A good thing, given that lately Hecate’s thoughts had become less than proper, more often than she would care to admit. Because the list of possibilities that came with this new territory also opened pathways that Hecate had never allowed her thoughts to wander.

“Will you be free for tea, this afternoon?” Ada asked, her tone light and conversational. She prided herself on hiding the fear underneath, her mind replaying Dimity’s warning from earlier. Right now, Hecate seemed perfectly fine. Had she truly been upset, this morning at breakfast? Ada couldn’t say—she’d been too distracted, she realized with sudden chagrin.

She looked up to see Hecate’s eyes watching her with painful uncertainty. _Do you want me to be free?_

Oh, Hecate, Hecate. Darling sweet uncertain Hecate. Ada could kick herself for her foolishness, for whatever she’d done to put such uneasiness in that precious face. She wanted to take that face in her hands, to kiss away the worry and the fear, to not stop until Hecate had absolutely no doubt of her feelings or their depth.

Instead, she settled for reaching her hand out to take Hecate’s, giving it a small squeeze.

The relief breaking across her deputy’s expression was absolutely beautiful.

“Yes, I think I shall have the time,” Hecate responded shyly, ducking her head and blushing. She gently disengaged from Ada’s grasp, with a regretful slowness that gave Ada hope. A gaggle of girls rounded the corner, laughing and joking, and Ada realized that as usual, Hecate had been aware of impending danger and had saved them both from potential embarrassment.

“Good,” Ada nodded in approval, tamping down her own grin as they entered the great hall. “I look forward to it.”

* * *

 

Ada had never been so nervous over something as trivial as tea. Should she just ask Hecate what was wrong? Should she give Hecate space, let her tell Ada when she was ready? Should she find a way to reassure Hecate that nothing had changed, or would Hecate find it patronizing?

A knock at the door interrupted her internal debate, and she gave a wave of her hand to open the door. Hecate stepped in, her arms filled with Morgana, her familiar. Pendle, Ada’s own familiar, gave a sleepy chirp of recognition from his napping perch atop a bookshelf, and Morgana meowed in response, wriggling from Hecate’s grasp and easily scaling the shelf to join him.

Hecate smiled softly as she watched them. She turned back to see Ada smiling at her, just as sweetly.

_This is Ada_ , she repeated to herself again. _This is who we are. Not the petty childish jealousy you felt earlier. Not the feeling of abandonment you felt last night._ _We are warm, we are safe, we are comforting. We are quiet conversations and soft smiles, we are all this, and more._

Ada had a cup ready for her, handing it over with another smile. Hecate gave her thanks and took her usual seat. She found the tightness in her chest dissipating, anxiety slipping away as it so often did in Ada’s presence.

Then came that awful sound. The chime of a new message on Ada’s maglet. Still, Hecate schooled her response, dipping her head slightly to sip her tea, “Shouldn’t you answer that?”

“It’s not important,” Ada said carefully, her eyes locked on Hecate. Wanting her to understand all that her words meant. _You’re important, more important than anything else in this room_.

She might as well have showered Hecate with a thousand compliments, the way her deputy blushed, lips quirking as she tried to hide a smile. So she had understood the unspoken meaning behind Ada’s simple words. Good.

“So…the celebration,” Hecate changed the subject, shifting slightly in her seat.

“Let Dimity handle it,” Ada waved the thought away. Hecate looked up, eyebrows raising in surprise. Ada softened her words with a smile, “I know you’re more than capable…but for once, Hecate, you should allow yourself a chance to relax. You deserve to enjoy this time of year, as much as anyone else.”

_More than anyone else_ , was what she meant. After all, it would soon be Hecate’s birthday—her fiftieth birthday, an important milestone in any witch’s life. Half a century, halfway to her first hundred years of life. A supposed influx in power and wisdom, though Ada hadn’t noticed much of a change, if any, when her own had rolled around.

“I would enjoy it more if we had a proper Samhain ceremony,” Hecate returned wryly, arching a brow in pointed silent reprimand ( _if you would just let me do what I want to do, Ada Cackle, I wouldn’t be stressed out over Dimity’s ridiculous ideas_ ).

Ada knew that was meant to make her laugh, but she couldn’t quite. Because in that moment, seeing Hecate so coy and self-assured, her brain short-circuited into entirely different scenarios involving that same knowing smirk. _Pull yourself together, Ada._

Ada’s half-hearted smile at her quip made Hecate falter in self-doubt again. Things still weren’t entirely right between them. Ada was still hiding something—and Hecate was still too afraid to ask what it was. So instead, she focused on her tea.

 Atop the bookshelf, two black cats nestled together, purring contentedly, completely unaware of the unease brewing below.


	2. Chapter 2

The week passed by in a flurry. Ada tried to be more discreet with her maglet messaging, but Hecate still noticed, still fought back wave after wave of jealousy and doubt. Dimity still found little moments to quietly point out that Hecate should probably say something to Ada, though she never mentioned what that something was—more than once Hecate thought of asking for clarification, for help (but the absolute mortification of having Dimity further intrude upon her personal life was too great a cost). Because how did one have such a conversation?

_Ah, yes, Ada, I know that we’ve literally held hands three times, but I was wondering if you’d give me unfettered access to all your private correspondence, so that I can confirm that you’re currently not falling in love with Pippa Pentangle, a wonderful and worthy witch, I’m sure, but someone perfectly incapable of loving you as deeply as I do._

Absolutely not. The only option was to suffer in silence, and eventually die if Ada truly removed her affection from Hecate.

Dramatic? Absolutely. Exactly what would happen? Absolutely.

Hecate tried to blame the upcoming holiday, her upcoming birthday, the upcoming mirror call from her mother. Tried to blame Dimity’s horrible party-planning skills, the girls’ inability to remain on-task during class, the overly-warm weather, even the latest case of blight upon her private herb collection (she’d have to get Miss Gimlett in on this one, to be sure). Tried to blame the moon and the planetary alignment, the residual stress from her now-terminated fake engagement, and her own hormones, which _surely_ must somehow be to blame.

And not a single damn accusation helped alleviate the situation.

She decided that if these feelings persisted after her birthday, then she would confront them. Knowing full well that she would continue pushing back that deadline for all eternity. Procrastination, the coward’s truest friend.

Finally, Samhain arrived. The academy was filled with glowing candles floating through the halls (Hecate’s touch) and colorful streamers (Dimity’s gauche addition). The contests and games began just after lunch, scheduled to last until the dinnertime banquet. Hecate found herself circling the great hall like a restless shark, eyes forever cutting towards the doorway, waiting for one particular shadow to darken it.

The past few days had been busy. So busy, in fact, that she’d barely spent more than twenty minutes’ in Ada’s presence—an absence she felt more keenly than she would have before. Every term had busy spells, where they didn’t have time for morning walks or afternoon teas or late-night chats, but Hecate was still too uncertain to determine whether this was simply another part of that cycle or a concerted effort to avoid her on Ada’s part.

They barely spoke a breakfast, kept conversation light and mundane at lunch and dinner. Ada hadn’t requested her presence for tea and Hecate’s pride hadn’t allowed her to mention it. There were fewer smiles, and sometimes, Hecate looked up to catch Ada watching her with an unreadable expression. Regret, perhaps? Sorrow for the impending heartbreak Ada would cause?

And through it all, that damnable maglet kept chiming. One more pink envelope arrived, which Ada immediately stuffed into her pocket. Likewise, Hecate tried to jam her feelings into the corner of her heart, unsuccessfully convincing herself that she was imagining things.

“Oh, my, isn’t this just _wonderful_?!”

That voice. Hecate’s head snapped around so quickly that she felt a pang in her neck. Ada was here, hands clasped delightedly over her chest as she surveyed the girls’ handiwork—papier-mache goblins and ghouls floated about the room (covered by a protective spell to keep them from catching fire as they danced dangerously close to the candles), and rows of tables were covered in colorful linens, each one dedicated to a different event or game. Carved pumpkins glowed merrily, various botany projects flourished. A band of singing frogs hummed in their glass case, Gwen Bat dutifully helping them find the right key.

Hecate stopped herself from rushing over, too frozen by fear. If Ada was truly avoiding her, then the last thing she’d want was Hecate tripping over herself to join her, to ruin her day.

Ada’s blue eyes scanned the room, lighting up when they landed on Hecate, whose heart leapt in response. Still, she stood, taking in the simple delight of watching Ada weave through the room, fully focused on her.

She liked the idea of being Ada’s target, her intended destination. Despite her fear, her skin rippled in response, prickling with the thought of Ada’s focus in entirely different settings.

_Goddess, help me. I will give anything, do anything, be anything—only let her love me, only let me love her._

Now Ada’s eyes were twinkling with pure mischief as she approached, “And how does everything measure up to the exacting standards of Hecate Hardbroom?”

She was, of course, referring to the décor. Most likely expecting a quip or a complaint about Dimity Drill’s rather _unique_ decorating skills. However, Hecate’s response was entirely directed towards Ada’s outfit, a somber dark purple dress that only accented the richness of her figure. “Perfectly.”

Ada read the light in Hecate’s eyes, or rather the absolute darkness, and her smile shattered, along with all sense of reason. Oh, _that_ look was one she’d give anything to see again. She made a note to find more reasons to wear this particular outfit—especially if it earned her such a response from Hecate.

Hecate was blushing, embarrassed that her feelings were so easily read, but Ada merely smiled. Her thumb gently brushed against the connection charm on her wrist, a silent reassurance, _It’s quite alright—it’s_ more _than alright._

The potion mistress’s dark eyes flicked up to meet Ada’s gaze once again, shy delight and wonder filling the creases around them. Ada wasn’t just welcoming Hecate’s attraction, she was _encouraging_ it. She still felt absolutely lost and confused over all the mixed signals from the past two weeks, but she clung to this bit of hope with all her strength.

“There’s something rather important that I’ll need your help with, later on,” Ada kept her voice low, avoiding Hecate’s gaze by smiling out at the girls bustling around them.

“Oh?” Hecate looked down at her, curiosity evident in every line of her body.

“I’ll give you a tap,” Ada held up her wrist, indicating her connection charm again.

“There isn’t anything on the event schedule,” Hecate pointed out, still confused.

“No,” Ada beamed. “There isn’t.”

* * *

Hecate spent precisely 100% of the day warring between the need to vomit and the desire to smile. Anxiety was a familiar companion, though certainly never a friend. Ada had seemed happy, light, completely unaffected when she’d enlisted Hecate’s help. That had to be a good sign.

Hecate’s twisting gut didn’t agree.

Night fell early, due to the heavy grey clouds that had hung overhead all day. Ada stayed suspiciously absent from Hecate’s view—a fact which did not help the unease building in her bones. The banquet was announced, and while Ada was present, she barely spoke to Hecate, who was beginning to fear that she’d somehow missed the signal, somehow messed something up.

After dinner, the girls returned to more games and contests. Music began to play, and Algernon and Gwen swept around the hall in a waltz, somehow avoiding the darting students in their wake.

Finally, finally, _finally_ , Hecate felt the insistent tap on her wrist, her body immediately torn between relief and abject terror. She cast a locating spell and found herself slightly surprised to be transferring to the front steps of the academy.

Ada was waiting, dressed in looser, darker robes, traveling cloak and hat affixed, two broomsticks in hand. She gingerly handed one broom to her deputy. “Come along. We’ve got quite a ways to go.”

“G-go? Where?” Hecate’s brain was reeling, trying to process exactly what was happening. “The girls—we can’t—”

“We can and we _are_ ,” Ada corrected, using every ounce of her headmistress tone to ensure no more refusals were made. With a quick wave of her hand, she had Hecate dressed in her own cloak and hat. “No questions, Hecate Hardbroom. Just trust me.”

“Always,” came the whispered reply, so soft and so small that Ada wasn’t sure she was meant to hear it. She glanced back at her deputy, whose eyes were shining in the torchlight. She was blushing again, the same way she had whenever Ada complimented her work on the connection charms. And she was looking at Ada again, the same way she had whenever Ada had worn the dark purple dress earlier that day.

 _Commands and compliments. I know two things you like very much, Hecate Hardbroom._ Ada stifled a grin, storing that extremely useful information away for later.

Hecate followed Ada into the sky, her heartbeat thrumming with anticipation. She should have objected more, should have pointed out that they needed to stay with the girls, to be practical. But Ada had asked her not to be practical, for once ( _demanded_ it, really, and Hecate couldn’t deny the dark thrill Ada’s tone had produced).

And she did trust Ada, in all things. So she kept her questions to herself and urged her broom onward, so that she was flying beside Ada. She glanced over at her headmistress, whose features were barely discernible in the darkness. Ada seemed to know where she was going. Reaching out with her magic, Hecate detected a beaconing spell—so Ada was letting the broom guide itself to their destination, which meant she hadn’t been there before, wherever it was.

“No hints,” Ada teased. Obviously, she’d felt Hecate’s magic brushing against her own. Hecate blushed, ducking her head slightly.

“You said no questions,” Hecate pointed out. “You didn’t say I couldn’t look for answers elsewhere.”

“True,” Ada admitted with easy amusement. “But please, don’t ruin the surprise. It was hard enough, keeping this secret for nearly two weeks.”

Nearly two weeks. The amount of time all this weirdness had happened between them. Hecate could have fallen off her broom, suddenly struck with understanding.

Of course. Ada Cackle was skilled in many things, but teaching her face to hide a lie was not one of them. So of _course_ she’d avoided Hecate’s gaze. Of course she’d jumped around like a scared rabbit and generally acted guilty. _Of course_ she’d acted strangely, trying to keep herself from giving away a secret to the woman whom she’d entrusted with almost every other secret in her life.

Hecate wanted to laugh, so she did.

Ada looked over at her, both confused and amused. Hecate simply shook her head, waving away the unspoken question.

“You have your secrets, I have mine,” she decreed in mock seriousness. No, she couldn’t quite admit how foolish she’d been (not yet…maybe one day, long into the future, when they were curled up quietly together, could she softly tell this story, a story they would laugh about, eventually). For now, she would relish the absolutely sublime relief of realizing that as usual, she’d overreacted.

She felt the tension leaving her body, muscles loosening for the first time in almost two weeks. It didn’t matter where they were going, or even why. Ada hadn’t been avoiding her because of a sudden loss of affection—she’d been avoiding her _because_ of affection, because for whatever reason, she’d been intent on giving Hecate this surprise, and tried to stop herself from ruining it. Honestly, the surprise itself couldn’t hold a candle to the simple fact that Ada had planned something, just for her.

At least that’s what Hecate thought. But when they finally neared their destination, she realized that she could be wrong, in fact. Very, very wrong.

Ada glanced over at Hecate, not wanting to miss the moment that she understood where they were, what was happening.

They were currently over a dark copse of trees, but the faint glow of light was already emanating from over the hillside. The wind whipping past them hid the sounds at first, but as they came closer, the pounding of drums, heavy and somber, greeted their ears.

There was a flash of tentative surprise on Hecate’s face, as if she couldn’t quite allow herself to believe it. But once they crested over the rolling hilltop, the scene beneath them removed all doubt, and her expression blossomed into delighted wonder.

Unable to contain her own joy at Hecate’s reaction, Ada announced, “Welcome to the Hallowed Hills, Miss Hardbroom.”

“Oh, Ada, you—how did you…” Hecate was shaking her head, still unable to truly believe that this was real. “Ada, you shouldn’t have.”

Her tone implied the exact opposite, Ada noted happily. She couldn't stop herself from teasing, "Now, is _this_ Samhain ceremony proper enough for you, my dear?"

The younger woman was too entranced to fully reply, barely nodding in affirmation as she took it all in. Below them, a twenty-foot wide bonfire crackled and roared, surrounded by witches from every walk of life. Even from this distance, the air pulsed with magic, heady and pervasive.

“The wait-list is…years long,” Hecate marveled. She finally tore her gaze away from the scene below to look at Ada, filled with confusion and admiration. “However did you manage this?”

“Miss Pentangle has quite the connections,” Ada informed her with a knowing smile. And it had taken every single name in Pippa Pentangle’s little black book to get them approved to attend the sacred ceremony, open only to the elite and powerful. While Ada and Hecate’s skill levels were more than adequate, they still needed someone with a little more pull to vouch for their goodstanding.

“It was Miss Pentangle’s idea, actually,” Ada admitted as they came to a stop, simply hovering over the ceremony. “She said this was something you used to dream about, when you were younger.”

“I gave up on that dream a long time ago,” Hecate confessed with a small smile. She was staring wistfully at the witches gathered below, the light of the bonfire turning her face golden. She was a painting, an absolute masterpiece in that moment, Ada decided warmly.

“And now it’s a reality,” Ada countered. “Perhaps there’s a lesson to be learned here.”

_Don’t give up, Hecate Hardbroom. Not on your dreams, not on me, not on us. Please, don’t ever give up._

“Perhaps there is,” the younger witch beamed. She tilted her head towards the gathering, “Shall we?”

“Yes, let’s,” Ada was grinning like a madwoman now. She let Hecate take the lead as they slowly descended. Upon landing, they were asked for their credentials, which Ada easily produced—contained within an impossibly pink envelope, which Hecate suddenly regarded with absolute affection. Hats, cloaks, and brooms were vanished, and Hecate realized that her attire was much too…frigid. With a flutter of her fingers, her robes became looser, more so than anything she’d worn at the Academy, with a plunging neckline that seemed almost scandalous, given Hecate's usual attire. She couldn't bear to remove her timepiece, though (now possibly her second favorite gift from Ada). Once again, Ada Cackle was surprised at how easily it was to be seduced by a simple collarbone, and to envy a timepiece for being able to caress that lovely skin with its chain.

The witch checking credentials gave them a final note, “We do encourage all attendees to release their magic, to open themselves up and contribute to the greater whole. It helps the ceremony.”

The two women nodded, and Ada immediately felt Hecate’s magic unfurling, brushing gently over her skin. She wondered if Hecate felt the same small thrill, whenever she felt Ada’s magic. Ada surveyed the gathering, surprised by the large number of attendees. For a brief flash, she feared that she’d made a mistake—this wasn’t Hecate’s sort of thing at all, all the noise and the heat and the bodies pressing around them.

She looked to her potions mistress for some kind of sign, only to realize that Hecate was already plunging forward.

Hecate Hardbroom wasn’t generally one for crowds, but she relished the anonymity this one gave her. She could feel the magic rippling and eddying around her, as heady as a shot of witches brew. Notes of sage greeted her nostrils, tinged with the darker tones of seer’s herbs. Someone was already well into a vision quest, or at least a very pleasant high. Every sensation was heightened, amplified and echoing back against the sea of bodies around her. The heat from the fire at her front, the chill of the night at her back, the softness of the fabric on her body, the weight of her timepiece around bare skin of her neck and the comforting way it swayed with her movements. Her body felt different here, filled with awe that somehow transferred to grace and ease. Oh, there were witches with staffs! Her fingers itched to pull her own out of vanishment, free from judgment for perhaps the first time ever.

It took her a beat to realize that Ada wasn’t beside her. She stopped, looked around, thankful that she’d kept her heels, which allowed her a better vantage point. She found her headmistress easily, reaching out to gently take Ada’s hand and guide her through the crowd.

This was meant to be a gift for Hecate, but Ada felt as if she were the one being given something special. Hecate’s hand was warm and weighted in her own, her lithe frame easily slipping through the crowd with a sinewy grace that made more than a few witches stop and take a second look. Not that Ada blamed them—the parting view was rather enchanting, flowing skirt and easy rolling hips. Ada smiled, knowing that Hecate was oblivious to the admiring stares, intent only on her goal. And perhaps, Ada might have tugged her sleeve up just a little, just enough for the connection bangle to catch in the firelight, sending out a signal to the others. _See this? We’re linked. Inseparable. Going home together._

Entirely true…just not _as_ true as Ada wanted it to be. Still, it was more than any other witch here could boast. She pushed back any jealous feelings and focused solely on Hecate. Her joy was palpable, radiating off her frame like a heartbeat, steady and strong. Her magic was diffusing into the air, washing over Ada with gentle familiarity. And when she glanced back to make sure Ada was alright, the breathless delight in her expression was enough to make Ada’s lungs stop completely, to make her forget that there was any other living soul around.

“Here,” Hecate finally announced, stopping and giving a small motion around their current position. “A better view of the ceremonies, I should think.”

A consideration for Ada, whose height would make it difficult to see over the others. The drums grew louder and the crowd cheered in delight as the fire roared, the heat almost uncomfortable on their faces. Hecate leaned over, her breath ghosting across Ada’s ear as she whispered, “Thank you, Ada. Truly, just…thank you.”

In that small pause, Ada felt Hecate’s movements, felt the way her chest expanded, taking in the scent of Ada’s skin, her hair, and her perfume. Ada gripped Hecate’s hand tighter, not out of reassurance but rather a need to steady herself at the overwhelming intimacy of the moment. She could feel the heat radiating off Hecate's skin, could _feel_ how close she was, how easy it would be to move ever-so-slightly and kiss that lovely neck.

Then Hecate was shifting back again, smiling in that open, delighted way that was so absolutely rare. Ada’s chest bubbled with happiness. Oh, what she would do, to earn that smile again. What she wouldn't do— _that_ was the shorter list, to be sure.

The drums stopped, as did the crowd. The mistress of ceremony stepped forward, raising her hands for a silence that had already fallen. Her tone was deep, rich and heavy with somberness.

“Tonight, we welcome the season of darkness. We remember those who have passed on, those who now guide us from beyond the realm of light. We acknowledge the darkness within ourselves, embrace it, accept it, and find its purpose in our lives. We understand that light cannot exist without dark, and that darkness is required for all things—for growth, for passage, for rest and restoration. We honor the space between the stars, the vastness between the moon and the sun, the darkness that holds us all in balance. We honor the space between the fruition of summer and the fertility of spring. We honor this, as we honor all things. We do not forget the darkness that has brought us here, nor do we deny the darkness that will come again. We embrace it, we accept it, we honor its place in the wheel of our lives.”

A few witches stepped forward, placing handmade wreaths into the fire, personal farewells to some chapter of their lives, some light gone from their midst. Ada's free hand rose to tenderly cage Hecate's hand between her two own, as if warding off the thought. Yes, death would come for them all, just as it should. But not yet, Ada prayed. Not for a very, very long time.

With a sweeping motion of her arms, the mistress of ceremony extinguished the fire. Smoke curled to the sky, acrid arcs dancing on the light breeze. Hecate’s hand tightened around Ada’s, and the blonde grinned. She’d watched Hecate, the entire time the mistress had been speaking—the fervent devotion on her face was captivating, unlike any expression Ada had seen from her deputy before. While she, too, embraced the darkness, she did inwardly bemoan the fact that it now hid Hecate from her view.

Silence settled upon them like the inky black night, thick and comforting. Absent of sight, every other sensation was heightened. Ada could hear the breaths being taken all around her, the small testaments to life and hope in the darkness. She could feel every minute shift of Hecate's body, the ripple of fabric, the batting of an eye. Time expanded, shrunk, lost meaning.

Then, a small light appeared, floating quietly to the sky. Followed by another. Ada turned to look around, realizing that the witches who’d brought staffs were raising them to the heavens, tendrils of ghostly glowing light slithering into the air.

She turned back to see that Hecate’s right arm was raised overhead. From nothingness, a figure unfolded, molding easily to her palm as it expanded outwards, its end curving into a shimmering crescent moon.

Hecate had a staff. Ada stifled a small sound of surprise. After all these years, the woman still had the ability to surprise Ada with yet another hidden side of her self. Hecate heard Ada’s response, turned to look down at her with questioning and cautious eyes. As if there was anything about herself that she could reveal which would possibly change Ada’s feelings for her.

Despite all her promises never to make a move first, Ada understood that this was a special exception. She took a half-step closer, slipping her right hand to the small of Hecate's back and keeping Hecate's left hand within her own. She felt the tension leaving Hecate’s thin frame, and with a smile, the younger witch turned her gaze back to the heavens. Lifting the staff higher, she concentrated on controlling her magic, giving it just enough to let out small glowing orbs. Thirteen, her lucky number. They easily morphed into luna moths, still glowing as they lazily looped their way towards the sky. She heard Ada’s small hum of delight at the pretty fluttering illusions, and her smile deepened. She’d never be able to repay this debt to Ada, this gift so extravagant beyond measure, but she’d never let Ada doubt her gratitude, either.

The dark clouds shifted overhead, slowly seeping away. From behind them came the moon, full and glowing. A ripple of delighted gasps came from the crowd, though surely their combined magic was responsible for the feat.

The moon was so bright that Ada could see as clearly as day. She looked up at Hecate’s face again—the glistening speck on her throat caught Ada’s attention, and that’s when she realized that Hecate was crying. And she had been, for quite some time.

The ceremony was meant to be concluded at midnight, so Ada knew it was safe to utter her next words, “Happy birthday, Hecate.”

Hecate didn’t respond, her face still upturned to the moon, arm and staff still extended as well. However, the corners of her mouth wobbled into a smile and she closed her eyes softly as another tear followed the glistening trail down her cheek. Ada hadn't removed her hand from the small of Hecate's back—that hand was currently making small, comforting circles, occasionally ghosting upwards to delicately trace her spine.

Hecate took a breath to steady herself, lungs lightly shuddering, throat choked with tears. She couldn’t remember being this happy on her birthday, ever in her life. She couldn’t remember that last time she’d simply been this happy, this whole and content, on _any_ day. Of course, she had been, she had to have been. But any other instance couldn’t have been as wonderful as this. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Ada, too afraid of breaking the spell of Ada's fingers brushing over her lower back, too overwhelmed by emotion to trust her own actions. She merely held on, her left hand undoubtedly crushing Ada's as she tried to silently convey her gratitude and her love and her absolute joy in this moment.

Eventually, she regained self-control, lowering her staff to her side. Blinking rapidly, she whispered to the moon, “This…this is perfect.”

Ada merely hummed in gentle agreement. She didn’t speak, didn’t want to take Hecate away from whatever she was currently feeling. She simply waited, and let the woman enjoy her gift. There would be time for talking later, on the flight back home. For now, the silence was so full of joy, it did not need words to mar it. Ada’s hand kept its gentle strumming, sometimes lingering longer, sometimes pressing slightly deeper into the skin, relishing the feel of Hecate’s softness beneath the silky fabric and committing it to memory. A small territory, still greater than any Ada had explored before. Warm and solid and truly real. Hecate’s magic rippled against her skin, contented and grateful, and Ada felt a measure of satisfaction in knowing that it had all been worth it. For once, she'd truly given Hecate all the goodness she deserved.

They continued to stand there, under a miraculous moon so pregnant with promise, for a very long time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merci beaucoup for hanging in there this long. Four more prompts to go, so buckle up, chickadees!


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